


The Cliffs of Delphi: Unexpected Family

by GreyLiliy



Series: The Cliffs Of Delphi [8]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Dubious Consent, M/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:26:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet is pleasantly surprised when he spots Pharma and his patron Tarn at a dinner party. How could he resist inviting himself into the conversation?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rothinsel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rothinsel/gifts).



> This is pretty G rated up until the Interlude in the last chapter, which is where all the Rated M content takes place. :3 Enjoy!

When you hobnobbed with folks like Optimus Prime, and were renowned as a world famous surgeon, boring dinner parties were fairly common. You always got an invite, and while not required to show up—who could resist a free meal? Besides, what was better than people watching?

It beat staying home in an empty house, whatever the case.

Ratchet sipped his champagne, and watched the people milling about the Governor’s Mansion. He forgot what the occasion was for, but there were quite a number of well-to-dos walking about and chatting before they were called into the dining room. Ratchet considered starting a conversation with the few he knew, but Prowl was busy in a heated discussion with Optimus—always working, even when he was supposed to be relaxing.

Wheeljack or Elita would be an option, but Ratchet hadn’t spotted either of them yet. That new up and coming artist Sunstreaker was here. Ratchet looked over at the young man, standing close to his twin brother and scowling at everything. Maybe he should—

"I can not believe you dragged me here," Pharma said.

"Pharma?" Ratchet said to himself.

He turned around, and sure enough, across the room was one of his boys! Pharma was dressed in a suit Ratchet had never seen before, and had his arms crossed. He wore a sulk and sipped from a wine glass like it was his only lifeline. Ratchet chuckled, and took a swig from his glass. Standing next to his pouting child, was Mr. Tarn himself—the benevolent patron that’d kept his kid out of the poor house.

Well, then! Ratchet ought to say “Hello!”, shouldn’t he?

"You know I hate these things, Tarn," Pharma said, as Ratchet grew closer to the two. "How did you ever talk me into this?"

"I wanted company, and you agreed to come after I offered," Tarn said, shrugging. "It’s no one’s fault but your own."

"You just wanted someone to entertain you, because you know how boring these things are," Pharma said. He smacked the older man lightly in the arm with the back of his hand and huffed. "Admit it."

"Maybe I did, or perhaps…" Tarn trailed off, and looked over. He locked eyes with Ratchet, and a grin split his face. He pat Pharma hard on the back, and turned the boy around to face Ratchet. "Well, whether I did or didn’t, it looks like I’m going to be entertained, because if I’m not mistake—that’s your dear father, isn’t it?"

"Father?" Pharma’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he spotted Ratchet. He relaxed, and slumped his shoulders in relief. Before straightened up and yanking his arms out of their crossed hold. "Ratchet! I didn’t know you’d be here!"

Ratchet rubbed Pharma’s shoulder and clinked their glasses together. “That makes two of us!”

"Like father, like son?" Tarn offered, putting his empty glass on a waiter’s tray as he passed by. He had to lean over to do it, and Ratchet nearly whistled. He’d known Tarn was a big guy, but Ratchet had only seen him from across the room and never this close. It was unreal how tall he was, and Ratchet felt odd having to tilt his head back to see his face. Tarn said, "Aren’t you going to formally introduce us, Pharma?"

Ratchet bit his lip to stop from laughing when the young man flushed. Pharma poked Tarn in the middle of his vest, and said, “Why? You know who he is!”

"I know who he is, yes," Tarn said, "but I’ve never been formally introduced. Seems a bit rude to make assumptions, wouldn’t you say?"

"You’re hopeless," Pharma said, rolling his eyes. Ratchet sipped his drink and hummed. They were certainly familiar—and Ratchet wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Pharma sighed heavily, and turned to Ratchet. "Ratchet, this is Tarn, Patron of the Arts and Humanity. Tarn, this is my adoptive father, Ratchet, well known surgeon and medical practitioner."

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, doctor," Tarn said, holding his hand out. "I’ve heard quite a bit about you, from both co-workers and your son here."

"The same," Ratchet said. He took Tarn’s hand and shook it firmly. "And nice to meet you, as well."

"Yes, yes, everyone’s glad to know each other," Pharma mumbled into his glass. He shifted from one leg to the other, and his eyebrow twitched.

Ratchet licked the back of his teeth. “So, what brings you here, Pharma?”

"He’s my escort," Tarn said, smiling. "These things are so stuffy, I felt like dragging along a little pleasant company."

"Can’t blame you for that one," Ratchet laughed. "My own pleasant company seems to be occupied, so I guess I should thank you."

"No need," Tarn said.

"Dinner will be served in ten minutes. If everyone could please make their way to the main dining hall?" the head butler announced, standing at the doorway of the room. He bowed once, and left.

"Looks like the best part of the night is about to start," Ratchet said, smiling at Pharma. He put his arm around Pharma in a half hug and grinned. "Stuffy or not, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried the house Chef’s cooking. Nothing better, I swear to you."

"It’s true," Tarn said, heading toward the doorway. "I’ve eaten many places all over the world and very few compare."

"Oh? You’ll have to tell us about it while we eat," Ratchet said, walking alongside Tarn. "Among other things. I’m curious about how things are going down at the asylum, and getting information out of Pharma is liking pulling teeth."

Tarn shook his head, grinning wide enough to show his teeth. “Don’t I know it.”

Pharma tagged along behind the two of them, shoulders low and pouting. Ratchet grinned over his shoulder. “Don’t pout too much, it’s my job as your parent to embarrass you at public functions.”

"I don’t think that’s in the guidebook," Pharma muttered.

Ratchet snorted, and set his glass down on a waiter’s tray as he passed into the main hallway. Lunch with his boy at the Governor’s Mansion. How could that go wrong?


	2. Chapter 2

"I kid you not, he came walking into the room with a saw—a saw!" Ratchet said, slapping his hand on the table. Across the plates of food and flatware shining under the chandelier lights, his adopted son turned as red as his hair. But his very large guest sitting next to the kid was more than amused enough for Ratchet to keep going. "Little Pharma, no higher than my waist, comes in with a saw he found in the shed, and—"

"Ratchet, please," Pharma pleaded. He covered his face and tried to blend in with the bowl of strawberries to his left. "Why are you doing this?"

"Oh, no one’s listening but you and Mr.Tarn here," Ratchet laughed, waving his hand at the eating guests around them at the long table. The crowded room was full of people talking and laughing—no one could really hear anything over anybody if they weren’t immediately next to or across from them. Ratchet shook his head, "What’s the harm?"

"It doesn’t stop this from being embarrassing!" Pharma hissed across the table. He yelped out of no where, and bit his lip, catching Ratchet’s attention. After a moment Pharma huffed and crossed his arms on the table without saying another word.

"Do continue, doctor," Tarn said, smiling just a bit too wide. "He had a saw, I believe you were saying?"

"Yeah," Ratchet said, glancing between the two of them. Tarn pulled his hands out from under the table, and rested them on the white cloth protecting the mahogany. Ratchet hummed, and stuck his fork into the middle of the slab of steak on his plate. "Right, right. He had a saw—big old rusty thing, but the teeth along the edges were still sharp.

"Kid had it in his hands, and held it high up in the air above his head. He had little cuts on his arms, and I about yelled at him, but then he opened up his mouth and Pharma said, ‘Ratchet, look! This’ll work much better to saw off Mr. Hot Shot’s leg!’ with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. ‘It’s bigger!’," Ratchet said laughing.

Tarn snorted, and leaned his elbow on the table. He covered his mouth with his hand and his body trembled in tiny chortles. “He didn’t?”

"He did!" Ratchet said. He cut off a slice of his steak, dipping it in the mashed potatoes before taking a bite. Ratchet wiped a bit of gravy off the side of his lip before pointing the fork at Pharma. "Mr. Hot Shot had a nasty case of gangrene, and the leg had to go. Pharma saw the scalpel set and surgical saw I was going to use and decided it wouldn’t be fast enough."

"So he thought a large, rusted saw would be better," Tarn bit his lip. He rested his chin in a single hand, and rested the other on his lap under the table. "That sounds absolutely, excruciatingly painful."

"It would have been," Ratchet chuckled. He took a sip of wine and sighed. "Should have seen his face though when I told him. Biggest pout you ever saw, and it about broke my heart."

"I can imagine," Tarn said. Pharma winced, and hissed in a breathe of air. Ratchet put his drink down slowly, as Tarn continued. "He does tend to pout quite heavily when he’s wrong about something."

"Pharma? Are you alright?" Ratchet asked. He cut into another slice of his steak, and glanced at his boy. He was still red, but he was twitching in the corner of his eye. "The story isn’t that embarrassing, is it?"

"No, it’s—it’s fine," Pharma said, gritting his teeth. He squirmed in his seat for a moment, and smiled. "It’s not like you told Tarn about when I insulted a Duchess."

"Oh!" Ratchet exclaimed, laughing. He rubbed the side of his mouth and shook his head while Pharma grinned sheepishly. "I had almost forgotten about that."

"Insulted a Duchess?" Tarn asked, still smiling into his hand. Ratchet reached over for a strawberry and glanced at Tarn’s dinner. His plate was empty and his hand was moving back and forth under the table, probably running along his thigh. "That sounds like a good story, and it must be if Pharma brought it up."

"It was," Ratchet said. He popped the strawberry into his mouth, and leaned back. "Now what happened…I remember! I was discussing a little medical matter with a Duchess I won’t be naming, and Pharma came in—he was still only ten, mind you—and asked why she even cared about losing weight if she was still single at her age."

"I can’t imagine that went over well," Tarn said. He slapped his thigh loudly—startling Pharma into jumping—and laughed. "Pharma’s been awful at tact since a young age, I see."

"I wouldn’t say awful at tact," Ratchet said, smiling a bit. "Just truthful to a fault."

"That he is," Tarn said. He put his hand on the table, and drummed his fingers on the surface. "What age did you adopt him, again?"

"He was seven," Ratchet said, scooping another bite of mashed potatoes into his mouth. Pharma grabbed his fork and finally started eating his own dinner. He picked at the meat for a minute, before slicing into it and eating quickly. Ratchet washed down the buttery potatoes with another drink of wine, and thought back. "Almost eight."

"So not a toddler, then," Tarn asked. His gaze lowered, looking at Pharma. "What happened to his parents?"

Ratchet halted the glass near his lips, and his shoulders dropped. “That, believe it or not, is not my place to say. I wouldn’t push the subject, either.”

Pharma ate slower, and pressed his lips together.

Tarn licked his lips and sat up straight, turning his attention back to Ratchet. He reached for his glass and drank deeply. Tarn smiled brightly around the rim of his glass. “I bet Pharma was quite the bright pupil once he started studying.”

"You better believe it," Ratchet said, pointing his knife toward Pharma. "The boy worked circles around his peers."

As Ratchet continued telling Tarn about Pharma’s successful educational career, his boy perked up a bit. He started eating at a calmer rate, and stopped once in a while to snatch a strawberry from the tray or enjoy his wine.

By the time dessert rolled around, Ratchet felt the night was going pretty good!


	3. Chapter 3

Ratchet lost track of Pharma and Tarn at the end of dinner. He rubbed a hand through his hair and wandered through the main gathering area, pushing through the masses of sated and drunk bodies. So much for his good night. Ratchet had looked away for a sum total of a minute to make sure his jacket was straight, and they got swept away in the crowd of people filing out of the dining room. And now he couldn’t find them.

_Maybe they went for a smoke?_

"Ratchet, you look a little lost my friend," Prowl said, entering Ratchet’s vision. His overworked friend usually found it in him to say ‘hello’ at least once at these events. He put it off a bit today, though. The stern constable was fixing his gloves and coat, ready to leave for the night. "Something wrong?"

"No, just looking for someone," Ratchet said. He loosened his tie around his neck and shook his head. "My son’s patron invited him along for the party, and now I’ve lost track of him."

"Which one?" Prowl asked, tilting his head ever so thoughtfully. Ratchet could practically see the names flashing by Prowl’s eyes as he listed the possible suspects. "Perhaps I’ve seen him."

"Pharma, the carrot top," Ratchet said, tugging on his own graying hair. He looked around the room, a sea of brunet and black hair, sighing. Ratchet crossed his arms and frowned. "He’s not that hard to miss, and yet here I am."

"Ah yes," Prowl said, twisting the latch on his gloves tighter. Prowl twisted his mouth, and looked thoughtful. "You mentioned a ‘patron’? What might his name be, if I can ask?"

"Mr. Tarn," Ratchet said, looking up. Maybe if he couldn’t spot his carrot top, he’d spot the giant that was with him. "He seems nice enough, likes art and literature. Little eccentric though, but what man with money isn’t?"

Prowl hesitated for a full three seconds, before answering. He cleared his throat, and said, “That’s very true. I’m sure Mr. Tarn is hardly an exception.”

"What was the pause for?" Ratchet asked, looking around a little harder for his son. It took more than a patron spending money on your kid for Prowl to get spooked. Ratchet looked him in the eye. "There isn’t something wrong with him, is there?"

"I wouldn’t worry," Prowl said, quickly. He tugged his coat tighter around his neck, and smiled. The bright kind that said Ratchet had just told him something good. Prowl plucked his hat from a rack, and held it over his heart. "I’ll be sure to keep an eye on it for you."

"I appreciate it," Ratchet said, rubbing the tips of his fingers together.

What had just happened that he missed?

"Speaking," Prowl said, waving his hat behind Ratchet. "I believe I’ve spotted your boy across the way."

True to Prowl’s statement, Pharma was across the hallway standing beside Tarn. He was shrugging into his coat, and putting on his scarf. Ratchet’s heart clenched a bit in his chest. Was he really leaving without saying anything? Pharma slapped Tarn in the side, and pointed toward Ratchet with a pout. Tarn nodded and he started making his way through the crowd toward Ratchet.

Oh, good.

"I’ll see you later, friend," Prowl said, putting a hand on Ratchet’s arm. "Take care."

"You too," Ratchet said, as Prowl disappeared like a puff of smoke into the background.

Pharma was ruffled when he stepped in front of Ratchet. Tarn remained waiting by the door, and donned his own coat and gloves. Pharma had his arms crossed and was decidedly not looking at his old man.

"Something happen?" Ratchet asked, straightening Pharma’s scarf. "You look ready to leave."

"No, nothing happened," Pharma said. He swallowed and brushed the side of his mouth with his hand. Pharma smiled, though even Ratchet could tell it was strained from the twitch of his lip. "Got a bit caught up after dinner with some…some of Tarn’s friends, and didn’t get a chance to slip away. Now I’m just tired, and well…"

"Not a problem," Ratchet said. He pulled Pharma into a hug and squeezed. He rubbed the boy’s slim back, and huffed. "Go get some rest. I was glad to see you."

"I was," Pharma dragged his foot along the ground and shifted, "It was good to see you, too."

"Don’t be such a stranger," Ratchet said. He let go of his son, and held onto his shoulders. Pharma bit his lip, and his body trembled slightly. Ratchet looked over his shoulder, and spotting a smiling Tarn watching them. He hugged Pharma again, and whispered, "And if anything is wrong, remember you can talk to me."

"I know," Pharma whispered back. He squeezed hard, and stepped a full foot and a half back, breaking free from the embrace. "I’ll see you soon, Ratchet."

"Bye," Ratchet said.

Pharma bit his lip and nodded once, before turning and jogging back to the door. He left on his own, pushing hard into the door. Tarn tipped his hat toward Ratchet before following the boy out toward the carriages.

Ratchet grabbed a wine goblet off a passing waiter’s tray and headed toward a chair on the side wall. Seated, he dropped his shoulders and sipped the drink until his head buzzed.

He was glad he got to see his boy, even if he did have a whole host of new worries concerning his well-being.

But, now…well. Ratchet finished off the glass and flagged down a waiter to bring him another. He’d had the free food, now it was time for the free drinks.

Anything to put off going home to an empty house.


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarn sneaks himself and Pharma off alone during a dinner party, and takes advantage of an empty room - and a mirror.

"I don’t know if you’re aware or not," Pharma said, griping as per his usual. If Tarn hadn’t heard it at least once, he would be convinced that was his only mood. "You probably are, since i’ts you, but we are heading away from the guests and Ratchet."

"I am indeed aware of where we are headed," Tarn said, smiling brightly as he tugged Pharma along the large empty corridors of the Governor’s Mansion. The sounds of the crowded guests in the other rooms filtered out into the quiet of their footsteps the further they went. "Now, if I’m not mistaken, it’s down this way a little farther."

"What is?" Pharma hissed, tugging on his arm through the newly tailored coat sleeve. Tarn had been right—the boy did look good in French fashion. Tarn ignored him, and turned down the next hall. "Tarn! Where are we going!?"

"Here we are," Tarn said, stopping before an ornate door, with a lovely gold-plated door handle. "The daughter’s room. The governor’s little girl is off visiting Spain, so we have it all to ourselves."

"Tarn," Pharma said, even as Tarn pushed him inside the room, and shut the door. "I don’t even want to know the answer to what you think we’re doing in here. It was bad enough that you kept groping me under the table at dinner, so there is absolutely no way we are doing whatever your little mind has concocted in here! There are people three halls down and Ratchet’s probably looking for us!"

"He likely is," Tarn hummed in agreement, pulling a large cloth off the full length mirror in the back of the room. He tapped the reflective surface with a finger and folded the cloth neatly. "Do strip down."

"S-strip down?" Pharma stuttered, gritting his teeth together. His cheeks gathered a delightful shade of blush, a mix of anger and embarrassment that made Tarn’s heart beat faster. "I just told you that we’re not doing anything but heading back to the party!"

"And I asked you to strip down," Tarn said, pulling a chair out from the young girl’s vanity. The chair creaked dangerously under his weight, but held. He laced his fingers together, and twirled a finger. "You can either take the clothes off yourself, or I can rip them off. And only one of those options gives you something to change back into once the party is over.

"Though, I imagine you’d fit in one of the young lady’s dresses," Tarn added, "which could also be a wonderful third option."

"I hate you with every fiber of my being," Pharma said, pursing his lips and undoing his tie. He dropped the item on the edge of the bed, and shrugged off his dinner jacket. "You are a horrible man."

"One of these days you’ll think of something more creative to insult me with," Tarn said. Pharma’s shirt formed to his bony shoulders, and the vest was removed quickly and thrown on the bed. His fingers moved quickly and mechanically. Tarn tapped a finger on his knee. "There’s no rush, you know. We have all the time in the world!"

"Oh yes there is," Pharma said, undoing the last button on his shirt. The slight red hairs on his chest were lost in a bed of freckles. One of these days Tarn was determined to count them. "We’re going to do whatever twisted thing you have planned to get it over with, and then I’m getting dressed and apologizing to Ratchet. That’s it."

"Ratchet, Ratchet, Ratchet," Tarn shook his head. "You never talk about the man, and now he’s all your thinking about."

"He’s three hallways away and you egged him on to tell embarrassing childhood stories about me!" Pharma said, folding his shirt. He sat on the edge of the bed to undo his shoe laces. "How could he not be on my mind?"

"I had to take the chance while I could," Tarn said, watching a bare foot make itself known from a loosed sock. "You never talk about yourself."

"Of course I don’t!" Pharma said, holding onto his belt. The edge of his pants slipped just enough to show off the tip of his hip bone. "I don’t want you to know!"

"So mean. But come on now, hurry it up," Tarn said. He rolled a finger in the air, urging Pharma to hurry it up. He may have joked that they had all the time in the world, but the truth was—Ratchet would come looking sooner or later, and Tarn would rather not be interrupted. Pharma dropped his pants, and the matching scowl was so fierce Tarn wanted to kiss it off his face. "That’s better."

Pharma stepped out of his pants, and leaned over to pick them up. They too, were folded neatly and placed on the bed next to his shirt and discarded tie. Pharma’s drawers were quick to follow, though his eyes stayed delightfully locked with Tarn’s during the exchange. Those he left on the floor.

"Well?" Pharma said, fidgeting slightly. His toes curled on the carpet, and his breath increased. He crossed his arms, hugging himself. The freckles on his arms blended with the ones on his chest. "Are you just going to sit there?"

"Come here," Tarn asked. "I can barely see you all the way over there."

"Do this, do that," Pharma said, shuffling closer to Tarn. "I swear, you’re worse than a nagging mother some days."

"And how would you know that?" Tarn asked, glancing down to sneak a peak at red hair that matched Pharma’s carrot top. "I didn’t think you had a mother."

"Get this over with and done in the next twenty minutes, or I am leaving on my own," Pharma hissed. He dropped his arms, the hands locked into fists and his chest pounding with angered breathing and a heavy heart. "So help me, I’ll leave naked if I have to!"

"Suit yourself," Tarn said, rising from the chair. He took Pharma by the shoulders and guided him back toward the decorated mirror in the back. He positioned Pharma dead center, his head to his feet reflecting back in the silver surface. "There we are."

"And what is the point of this?" Pharma asked, glancing away from his image. "You can see me just fine without this trinket."

"I want you to see you with this trinket," Tarn said, pushing Pharma’s cheek until his head faced the mirror. Pharma’s eyes remained angled to the side, focused on some hair brush or vase on the night stand. "Look at yourself, please."

Pharma shifted his gaze toward the mirror, and his scowl increased. “I see ugly red hair that got pulled more often than I care to count, freckles that got mud thrown at me, and a filthy old man behind me who’s determined to out do every childhood bully I’ve ever had. Are you happy, now? Can we end this little introspection, and get this over with?”

Tarn sighed, and stood straight behind Pharma. Towering over the mirror, all Pharma could see was his chest and hands. _Good._ Tarn held the sides of Pharma’s face and drew a circle on the lad’s cheek with his thumb. “Such a low opinion of yourself. Surely as you got older and more handsome, those childish problems started to disperse? I know more than one lady at court has looked your way.”

"They’re not exactly memories that are easy to erase," Pharma said. "What are you doing, Tarn?"

"Admiring you," Tarn said. He kissed the top of Pharma’s head, and moved his hands down the boy’s neck and rested them on his shoulders. The lithe body shivered, and not from the chill of the room on his naked skin. "I got to learn quite a bit about what goes on under that skin of yours, so I felt like admiring the outside as well."

Pharma’s breath hitched when Tarn’s hands slipped over his shoulders and down the front. They settled near Pharma’s waist, and the finger tips brushed against red strands of hair. Tarn pressed his chest into Pharma’s back, and rested his chin on the lad’s head. Pharma squirmed against the fabric, and Tarn tightened his grip.

"Why so nervous? You act like we’ve never done anything before," Tarn said. He pressed his thumb into Pharma’s stomach, and drew it down. "Or that I’ve never seen you like this before."

"The lights were usually off," Pharma said, pushing on Tarn’s hand. "And you’re normally impatient enough that we’ve already finished by now."

Tarn tilted Pharma’s head up and back with one hand, and moved the other down far enough that he could cup everything buried in that red hair. He squeezed. Pharma’s mouth opened in a yelp, and Tarn kissed him hard enough to redden Pharma’s lips to match his blushing cheeks.

Pharma moaned, clinging to Tarn’s sleeve as his hand moved, and slipped as his knees weakened. He bumped into the mirror, knocking it hard enough that it leaned against the wall. Tarn smirked through the end of the kiss, and let go of Pharma.

The man crumbled to the floor, breathing heavily. His eyes were the widest he’d ever seen, dilated and needy. Pharma asked, “Tarn?”

"It’s been twenty minutes," Tarn said. He straightened his coat, and opened the bedroom door just wide enough for him to slip through without the interior being revealed to the world. "I believe that was the time limit you set."

"Tarn!" Pharma shrieked, hands digging into the carpet. "You monster!"

"But I suppose," Tarn continued as he leaned in the doorway, "that I could take care of you in the carriage if you hurry up, and we say our goodbyes. It is late enough in the evening that we could politely excuse ourselves without _faux pas._ ”

Pharma growled like a beast as Tarn closed the door on him. He slipped a cigarette case out of his jacket and lit one up in the hall as he waited. Through the door, Pharma’s cursing was a delightful addition to the sound of ruffling clothes. Tarn took a suck on his cigarette, and blew the smoke out. It wafted and raised up to the ceiling in a grey cloud and he smiled.

The door flew open but a minute later. Pharma stood there, breathing heavily with his clothes just an inch out of place. He glared at Tarn and stomped past him, walking awkwardly and swiftly back toward the party and the door to the carriages. Tarn smiled wider, putting out his cigarette in the middle of the wooden table in the hallway. He followed the ever rushing red head, strolling along without a care in the world.

There was more than one way to skin a cat.


End file.
